“This is no gift,” Caris said. “This is just practice. It will come to you, as it came to me.” There was the slightest hesitation. “I have other gifts.”
Halithe raised her eyes to find Caris’s brown ones focused on her intently. She felt hot and cold at the same time. She opened her mouth to dare a question, but before she could draw breath, a crash of breaking pottery and a shout erupted from the other chamber.
“No more of that damnable ginger tea!”
The ladies froze, waited, and then relaxed when no more shouts were heard.
The moment was gone and Halithe’s courage, fled. She dropped her gaze back to the nappy. “The Queen is in a foul mood,” Halithe said.
“The Queen is finding bearing difficult,” Caris agreed.
Halithe snorted, twisting her lips.
Those perfect, cool fingers clamped on her wrist. Halithe’s heart beat faster. She stared at them, their paleness such a contrast to her olive skin, the blond wisps so unlike the darker hairs on her arm. She could see the brand on the inside of Caris’s wrist. The pattern floated in front of her eyes, burning itself into her brain.
“Have a care,” Caris’s voice was the barest whisper. “Have a care, little hawk, that you do not offend, do not stand too far out among the chicks. Her temper is foul and it does not bode well to have her attention.”
The door to the inner chamber creaked as it started to open. It was enough warning for Caris to be up and gone to her position by the main door before the Queen swept into the room, followed by the three other Bondmaidens.
Halithe rose with the others and curtseyed low as the Queen made her way to her seat. The chair had been replaced with a cushioned couch so that the pregnant woman could sprawl in comfort.
The Queen’s face was screwed into a scowl. “You said it would stop,” she snapped.
Mira was close behind her, carrying a chamber pot. “Majesty, I said that for most women it stopped. But sometimes these things linger and must be borne.”
Satia sank down on the couch, one hand pressed to her stomach. “Rise,” she commanded, but there was a weakness in her voice.
Halithe rose and reseated herself, making sure to focus on her stitching. The room that had been over-warm and silent moments before was now chill and tense. A brief glimpse of the Queen’s face was enough. She might sound weak and deserving of sympathy, but her expression was…petulant. The hairs on the back of Halithe’s neck rose. It felt like the Queen was seeking a target, if only to distract herself from her misery.
A knock, then. “The King, majesty,” Caris announced. “With Lord Tarwain and Steward Paulin.”
The door opened wide as the men strode in. The King was his golden, sunny self, smiling as he strode among the chairs. Lord Tarwain, Halithe’s father, followed close behind. The olive skin and dark hair she’d inherited looked handsome on him.
Halithe rose once again, with a sense of relief and dread. Sure enough, the Queen focused on the King and the tension eased from the room. Sure enough, her father’s eyes found her and glared his disapproval.
Halithe flushed with resentment and shame.
“My Queen,” Xyrath walked forward, smiling, but in an instant, his face filled with concern. “How fare you?” he asked, sinking down on the couch next to the Queen, making sure his sword was out of the way. He gestured for everyone to sit.
“Not well, my husband,” Satia leaned against him, putting her head on his shoulder, making such a pretty picture. “Not well.”
“Ah, my sweet,” Xyrath wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We should consult other healers. Perhaps our Chained Mage might have some ideas, eh?”
“Him.” Satia scowled. “All I ever hear from him is ‘no.’ It’s always ‘I do not serve you; you do not hold my key.’”
Xyrath chuckled warmly. “Well, you do keep trying to have him cast for you, dear heart.”
“I sent for the Mage Guildmaster, too,” Satia sulked. “He would not come.”
Xyrath’s eyebrows climbed. The Steward cleared his throat. “Mage Guildmaster Forterran suffers from gout, Your Majesty. He has episodes. He did send word that as soon as the pain abides, he will attend the Queen.”
“I want that key,” Satia pouted. Her eyes filled with tears. “I want this nausea to stop,” she added in a faint, childish voice.
Xyrath nodded. “Well, then, I’ll just ask our Chained Mage for suggestions, eh? I am sure he will wish to ease your suffering, as we all do.” He kissed her temple. “What you suffer is for the sake of this Kingdom.”
Satia put both hands over her stomach. “For the Kingdom,” she intoned.
Halithe bit her cheek and kept her face expressionless. The rest of the women were uttering soft murmurs of sympathy and support.
